Numerous are the ways of life
Each displays its own fife
Some “…the junction of pervert and povert”
Others "... the likes  of gullible minds"
“…wine and dine with the best of time wasters”

One way screams on pride’s plane
Above terrestrial rendition
“…junction for all smokers”
It adds “…all those are welcome
who silt to their fill and pipe like a chimney”

Observe the folks encroached and  battered.
Weathered in by wrong decisions
Gory tales to blame on the bell
And never their fault expelled.
Because they had their plans on air.

It is dusk so soon on pleasure borrowed
Now, they've gathered from pockets burrowed
Reared by those to begin their journey
"What's the way we seek to saunter?"
A question clothed in Uswanabaya.

The sage, suffocated in their Sulphur:
Their forerunner mixed in ‘holics,
Twitched his lips….then failed.
Stretched his hands... too frailed.
Then the digits, scourged for the prodigals.

That way, which looks rugged
With no welcome sign
So narrow your slings must part
That is the way, rejected but straight:
The Door, the Blood, and the Cross.